


Damn It

by acidano



Category: Original Work
Genre: Amputation, Depression, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Failed Suicide Attempt, Hero/Villain, Heroes, M/M, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Superpowers, Villain/Hero, Villains, Villains to Heroes, X-Men-Esque Powers, reluctant villain, spoiler in tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-04-06 05:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19056163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidano/pseuds/acidano
Summary: When you're born with powers, you have two choices: Join the Archetype Organization and become a hero, or don't, and become a villain. There's no between, no outside. It's very black and white.Gavin, personally, doesn't give a shit about picking sides, so he doesn't, and conversely becomes a villain. Specter, to be specific. He was fine with it for the first ten years, but hitting thirty and running around robbing banks is not extremely entertaining. He begins to lose his passion, not just for villainy, but for life also. Until he meets Prophet; a young and, quite frankly, stupid hero — dead set on changing him.Jack works for the Archetype Organization, and has been for four years. It's great; free room, free food, and free range to use his powers. Except for one thing: he still hasn't gotten a mission. Being a hero, you'd expect to fight villains — but no, not him. At least not until today, when he gets his first assignment. Capture Specter.





	1. Toothbrush

**Author's Note:**

> If you prefer, you can read this and everything else I upload here on Wattpad.
> 
> The link for this specific book is here ---> https://www.wattpad.com/story/187296897-damn-it-mxm-updates-weekly

**Specter, Day 1**

**___**

Gavin wakes with a start, chest heaving as drops of precipitation inch down his face. He blinks, once, twice, three times, as his eyes become adjusted to the bright light shining in through his window, the shine landing right on his face. His apartment is small, dingy, and falling apart. Just like his life, he often thinks. He doesn't need much of a light source to see the peeling wallpaper and water damaged wall, nor the built-in rug that was beginning to rot due to days he would go missing and leave the window open, allowing for the city rains to pour in.

He sighs and sits up on his mattress, throwing the sheets off of him. He nudges a can of... something, aside as he rises, and stands on his toes to pull the string to the light above his head. He won't lie by saying he isn't short for his age, he's long past feeling shame.

As the dull, orange light illuminates the room, he glances back down at the can at his feet, realizing it is a beer can, which had to have been at least a month old, considering he couldn't afford any beer since then. Rolling his shoulders, he pushes the can away even further and walks over to a pile of laundry spread across the floor. Not that he doesn't have a dresser or something to put the clothes in, he does, he simply doesn't see the reason to. Clothes are made for wearing, why bother putting them in something, or even really cleaning them, if they'll simply be worn again, be made dirty again.

He arches his back, savoring the few gratifying cracks that resonate from his spine. Leaning over, he grabs a pair of black sweats from the pile and slides them on over the boxers he's been wearing for the past week, not bothering to change them or his stretched out gray t-shirt that hasn't been washed a month.

He prowls into the bathroom, flicking the switch and watching as the small dome of light flickers to life, the outline of long-dead bugs poking holes in the sphere. His toothbrush lays on the counter, long forgotten and beginning to mold. He picks it up and tosses it in the trash. It still won't leave the bathroom for another few months, but at least he won't have to look at it anymore, a sad reminder of his long-forgotten need for self-care.

He twists the knob of his sink for warm water, staring at himself in the mirror as he waits. God, he is a mess. His slightly brown skin is clean from acne, one of the few advantages of reaching your thirties, but his age certainly didn't help the deep bags under his eyes. He rubs at them, feeling the softness of the half-moons compared to the rest of his skin. It isn't just around them that look like shit, his eyes themselves have small red lines creeping from the corner, trying to consume the blue of his iris. Looking away, he runs a hand through his now shoulder-length black locks, fingers catching in tangles and knots. He doesn't bother trying to undo them, they'd come back later anyway.

Sticking a hand into the water running from the faucet, he hisses and pulls back, the liquid a jarring cold, shocking him from his half-asleep daze. "Damn it," he mutters as he puts his hands back into the water, cupping the liquid and splashing it on his face. Wiping his eyes, he glances at the towel he left on the counter. He places his hand on it but recoils when he feels the already-damp fabric. He'd rather have a wet face than put that thing anywhere near him. He makes eye contact once more with his reflection before leaving the bathroom.

Walking back through his one-room apartment, he looks under his clothing pile, snatching the first pair of shoes he could find; a black pair of beat up sneakers he's had for five years. He slides on the sneakers and grimaces at the rough fabric. He ignores it, though, and turns the doorknob to the apartment, taking a step into the hallway.

Just in time to get knocked off his feet.

"Ow," he groans as the man that pushed him continues to hurry further down the hall.

Not on my watch, he thinks as he quickly stands up and grabs the brown-haired man by the shoulder, causing the briefcase in his other hand to go sliding across the floor.

"Hey asshole," he grits out through clenched teeth, pushing the man up against the wall and pressing his arm across his throat, "how 'bout you watch where you're goin', huh?"

"Fuck off," the man hisses as he shoves Gavin out of his way, scurrying over to the case.

"Oh no you don't," Gavin growls, kicking the case further away from the man. The latches snap open as it bounces off a wall, though it remains closed.

"What the fuck?" the man pushes Gavin backward and Gavin grins, savoring the rush of adrenaline that starts to run through his veins. "Fucking creep," the man murmurs as he turns around to grab at the case a second time, but Gavin is quicker. He snatches the case and opens it, seeing... oh shit.

The man's fist connects with Gavin's cheek, causing him to stumble to the side. The man grabs the case from where Gavin dropped it, shoving the contents back in. "Oh you've done it now," he snarls, taking a handle from his pocket. He flicks a switch and a small blade slides out from inside the tool.

"And here I was thinking heroin had fallen off," Gavin sneers as he puts his hands to either side of his head, "no need to be rash," he hurries when the man takes a step near him.

"Hey, hey, calm down, bud, yeah? Let's talk, yeah?" Gavin smiles as the man takes a few more steps closer. "No? Yeah, okay, understandable. Have a nice day, ya hear?" The man's eyes squint in confusion at the sudden words of parting, but within a second, Gavin was gone.

He hadn't run, no, there was no sound, no movement. He'd shadow-walked. A pretty useless power, Gavin often thinks, but in this instant...

He tears himself from the shadows, feeling the familiar prickle of nerves as his body reels from the darkness he had melded with. One of the advantages of living in such a shitty complex, the hallways are always dark.

He earns a concerned look from the receptionist as he passes the check-in. Ignoring it, he walks through the revolving doors, appreciating the cool breeze from New York's streets. He jaywalks his way to a cornerstore, getting knicked by a bicyclist on his way. Normally he would've gotten in a fight with the man, but he didn't much want to draw any more attention today.

A small bell rings as he opens the glass door to the store, and the man behind the counter folds the corner of his newspaper to give him a suspicious stare.

Gavin looks at the small clock on the counter and understands the cause for the man's suspicion, not many people go to the store at four in the morning. He doesn't care though, it's not his fault the store's open 24/7.

He grabs a 50¢ toothbrush and puts it on the counter, digging through the "Leave a Penny, Take a Penny" dish positioned next to the clock.

"Oi man, can't do that."

Gavin makes eye contact with the cashier. "Says take a penny right there,"

"Yeah, take a penny. If yer plannin' on payin' for the entire brush with pennies from my store, ya might 's well just steal it."

Gavin shrugs, "That can be arranged,"

"Hah?"

Gavin grabs the toothbrush and runs out of the door. The city never sleeps, as they say, and right now, Gavin's very thankful for that as he easily blends into the crowd. Or, at least as easily as a grimy, underdressed thirty-year-old man can.

"Shit," he mutters as he looks down at the 50¢ toothbrush in his hand that he couldn't even afford, "I really need some money."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! So this is a passion project that I started due to the lack of villain x hero stories, and there's no way it's getting dropped cuz my mind is overflowing with ideas... just a heads up though, I love angst, and when I say slow burn, I mean they don't meet until like chapter 4.


	2. Folder

**Prophet, Day 1**

**___**

Jack wakes to birdsong. Simulated birdsong, of course; living in the city doesn't give you many sounds other than horns and shouting, but that's what an alarm clock is for. He groans and presses his hand onto the top of the clock, silencing the noise. Laying on his back, he puts his hands behind his head and stares at the ceiling. He scrunches his eyes and groans, not wanting to go to work. Honestly, he wasn't expecting to dislike his career, being a hero was everything he ever wanted to be, it's simply that he doesn't do much. Left with either desk duty or training every day, while other heroes with "more useful" powers got sent out to do the field work. It wasn't what he was expecting, to say the least. But he still goes, still helps where he can, even if he's yet to get noticed for it.

He scratches his scalp, running his hand through the short brown curls. His room is small, not that he's complaining. Getting a room at the Archetype Organization is next to impossible, especially for someone who's only been working there for four years. He pushes himself up and jumps off of the bed, padding over to his dresser and grabbing the usual: a white t-shirt and jeans. He used to wear his costume, or at the very least take it, to work, but after four years and no in field work, he mostly gave up on it. No one else ever wore their costumes anyway, all it did was make him look like a rooky, which was the worst way he can think to portray himself. After putting the shirt and jeans on, he walks into the bathroom, squeezing toothpaste onto a brush and putting it into his mouth.

As he brushes, he rubs at his face, feeling the slight prickle of stubble on his chin. He takes the brush out and spits. Running the water and scrubbing his face with it, he sighs and stares into the reflection of his brown eyes in the puddle that the sink was too slow to drain. He grabs a towel from the rack next to his mirror and pats his face dry.

Slipping on a pair of socks and shoes, he leaves the room and makes his way to the cafeteria, checking his phone on his way. There's only one notification, an email from Luna, one of the head heroes at the Corporation, asking him to meet her at her office at 7. His mind spins as he thinks back to anything he could've gotten in trouble for this week. When he draws a blank, he decides to simply ignore it. He still has 40 minutes anyways, no need to get worried until he's standing at death's door.

He walks into the cafeteria and immediately spots the neon pink hair of Laura, AKA Pharaoh, as she sat, spooning cereal into her mouth with one hand and typing on her phone with the other. He grabs a bagel from the counter and strolls over to sit next to her.

"Hey babe," he smirks through his bagel as she glances up at him, eyebrow raised.

"Wow, you're so funny, Jack," she speaks sarcastically. He grins but pauses when he notices the slight darkness around her eyes.

"You good?" He asks with concern. "How's Sofia?"

"Great," she mutters, "we're great. That's the problem."

Jack squints, "I'm not sure I'm following. Isn't that a good thing?"

"Yeah, I mean... I dunno. I feel like I'm a bad girlfriend because..." she stops and bites her nail, turning off her phone and placing her full attention onto him.

"Because you can't tell her." He supplies.

"Yeah." She swallows and continues, "Yeah. I hate lying to her. Every day I get up and go to work and tell her I'm an accountant. An accountant!" She throws up her hands, "Christ, I'm- I... I wanna tell her. So bad."

"You can't." Jack rushes, "Laura, I get that you want to tell her, but you and I both know it'll only make things more complicated." He pats her on the shoulder. It's the best he can do right now, but he hates that he can't do more. "Why's it suddenly bothering you? You've never had a problem with it before."

"She tells me everything, and I lie to her face."

He knows that's not what pushed her over, but Jack doesn't speak, allowing her to process her thoughts.

"Last night," she mutters after a long pause, "last night, she... she said she wants to live together."

Jacks brow shot up as he grinned at her. "That's great!" He exclaims, though the smile leaves when he sees her expression, "Or...?"

"Jack, I have a hard enough time lying to her over the phone," she sighs, gesturing to the device on the table, "I can't do it in person, every morning, every night."

"Laura," he says, "look at me," he pats her shoulder again and squeezes. She glances towards him, and that's enough. "You love her. She loves you. Telling her won't change that, you know."

"Yeah," she breathes and he gives her a small smile, removing his hand as they both finish their breakfast in comfortable silence.

Jack checks his phone once he shoves the last bite of his bagel into his mouth, and chokes when he sees the time. "Shit!" He hisses, making Laura jump.

"What?" She asks, shocked.

He shoots to his feet and cries, "I got two minutes!" as he begins to run down the hall towards Luna's office.

\---

He's late anyway, and Luna doesn't appreciate it. Her gray-dyed hair is placed in a high ponytail on the top of her head, and her similarly colored eyes look him up and down. "You're late," she states, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and Jack chokes for the second time today when he sees Sol standing next to her, glaring at him.

"I," he swallows, collecting himself, "I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention to the time, and-"

"That's enough, Prophet," Luna sighs, and he shuts up immediately. Sol passes a glance at her, but quickly returns his glare at Jack, who was beginning to squirm under his eyes.

"Because you caused us to lose six minutes, I'll get right to the point; we have a mission for you," Luna speaks, and Sol whips his head to her.

"Oh no, that's not what we agreed," he argues, a slight edge to his voice, "we haven't come to an agreement just yet."

"Please," Luna laughs without a smile, not moving her eyes from Jack, "Prophet, what do you think?"

Jack blanches, at a loss for words. he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, his mind blank.

"He's a kid!" Sol shouts hysterically, waving his hands at an unphased Luna.

"I'm twenty-four," Jack squeaks, earning a snarl from Sol.

"You said we'd have a discussion and come to a conclusion as to whether or not he's ready, not just give him the assignment!"

"Its hardly a difficult assignment," Luna says, and Sol growls.

"That's not the problem," he states and looks from Luna back to Jack. "There are plenty of veterans who could do it in seconds. This kid has no experience."

"I wonder why he has no experience," Luna finally tears her gaze from Jack and places it on Sol. "We need new blood. Why are you so against him?"

"His power is useless in the field," Sol affirms, making eye contact with Luna, Jack forgotten.

"Is it really?" Luna hisses, "Seeing most likely outcomes will allow hand-to-hand combat to be an ease."

"Maybe with someone who will fight him," Sol contraries, "you know Specter, he'll slip right under his nose."

Specter? Jack hadn't heard that name before, and he always prides himself on his knowledge of villains.

"He's going to need to learn how to defeat someone unconventional, it's the only way for him to advance," Luna responds.

"I'll do it." The words come out of his mouth before he can think it through, but he doesn't regret it.

"Then it's decided," declares Luna as Sol's mouth drops, and Jack can almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Luna walks out from behind the desk her and Sol had been standing behind and hands Jack a manilla folder before flicking her wrist and sighing, "You can go now. Do your research, don't do anything reckless, and you'll be notified of all activity we see from him. Try not to be late when it happens."

Jack nods numbly and drifts out of the office, still in a slight shock from what had just happened. He leans against the wall next to the door, opens the folder, and is greeted with the face of Specter.

The image is dated, a snapshot taken a year ago from a bank security camera. The man was attractive, Jack had to admit, slicked back black hair and piercing eyes — silver or blue, it was hard to tell. The bottom half of his face was covered by a half balaclava, shrouding his mouth in black, but his thick brows made it easy enough to decipher his expression: anger. He was making eye contact with the camera, holding a gloved hand towards it and pointing his middle finger up. His outfit was black; a black sweatshirt along with black cargo pants, it was unconventional compared to the usual spandex and leather Jack had become accustomed to.

Jack turned over the image and began to read the synopsis of the villain. His power is a subsect of teleportation, like Luna had alluded to. "Shadow Travel", the paper said, "The ability to meld oneself with shadows or anywhere devoid of light." It was an interesting power, nothing Jack had seen before, but he could deal. Reading the list of the man's crimes, he was surprised the man is considered a villain; he hadn't killed anyone, not a single soul, opting to steal rather than murder, and even still, the robberies were few and far between.

Jack sighs. Of course they wouldn't give him an actual villain, instead they toss him some washed up crook who happened to have powers. He supposes its not nothing, but honestly, it might as well be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two: done! Writing Jack is way more difficult than Gav so plz be patient with me <3


	3. Books

**Specter, Day 1**

**___**

Gavin spent the day at the library. Of course he did, he was always a bookworm, and he'd be the first to admit it. He loves reading, loves how people and places that don't exist could get such an emotional response out of him, but more importantly, he loves the idea of a happy ending. At the same time, that's the thing he hates the most. The lie of a happy ending. It manipulates people into thinking that they can have one, but happy endings only exist because the author ends the story. If it continues, they see their beloved characters age, lose everything, and die. Instead, they end the story early with a "happily ever after." Yeah right, like that ever happens. But he does like to think it could. Or at least, he did. Today, though, he doesn't. Not only today, actually. His liking of a happy ending had been missing for a while now, and the more his dislike for a happy ending grew, the more his dislike for reading did the same.

It was a struggle to make it through a single book today, and he's slightly relieved when the library closes and he's forced to leave. He steps into the cold air again, feeling the prickle of goosebumps as they rise along his flesh. Letting out a shiver, he begins to walk home, this time even doing so legally. He could shadow-walk, the sun is down and the city was quite dark today, but for one thing, he doesn't want to risk getting caught by a headlight, and for another, he needs to save his energy.

When he gets to his apartment, he opens the unlocked door and is immediately overcome with a feeling of something being off. His haunches raise as he slowly snakes into the apartment and moves his eyes along the entirety of the small room. To an untrained eye, nothing would seem out of place, but to Gavin, who has been rotting in that room for years now, he can tell somethings wrong.

Someone had gone through his stuff, he can tell. But who?

Oh. Of course.

The dealer.

Gavin falls down unto his mattress and rubs at his eyes, but suddenly shoots up and tossed the mattress over, sighing in relief when he sees that his costume is still there. The man could've taken anything else, as long as the mask, pants, and jacket are still there, that's all that matters. Especially today.

He takes the toothbrush from that morning out from his jeans' pocket and tosses it into the open door of the bathroom, hearing the light clang of it falling to the floor. Dropping his sweats to the ground, he steps out of them and drags his shirt over his head, tossing it into the pile of clothing. He walks over to his mattress, pushes it up a second time, and grabs the clothing out from under it.

The outfit is old, the same clothes he wore five years ago when he first started the whole villain gig, but he never thought to get rid of them. Call it sentimentality or whatever, but they have a place in his heart. Whether the place is good or bad, that's to be decided, but either way, he has kept them all this time, so they have to mean something.

He pulls the pants up over his legs and tightens the belt, then leans down to grab the sweatshirt. After jerking the article over his head, he looks down at himself, feeling his cheeks heat when he realizes that they've become baggy on his malnourished body. Clearing his throat and rubbing his arm across his face, he tightens the belt as far as he can, though the pants still sag slightly on his hips.

Pulling on the balaclava and pushing his hood over his head, he makes his way out of the apartment complex. The city is lit up by street lights, unfortunately, but again, as they say, the city never sleeps.

Gavin keeps his head down as he walks through the crowd of people. He thinks it's strange for this many people to be out and about at night, but it may just be due to his lack of interactions with other human beings and the fact that he sleeps most hours of most days.

He shoulders his way to a less populated street and stares up at the bank in front of him. Closed. Good. Checking his left and right, he quickly melds into the shadows and moves into the building.

Peeling himself out from the darkness, he rolls his shoulders and squints as he travels to the back of the bank, shadow walking for a second time as he enters the vault. As soon as he escapes the shadows, he hears a click that an untrained ear wouldn't be able to pick up if it hadn't been searching for it.

An alarm.

Swearing under his breath, he shadow walks — more like runs, honestly — out of the bank, stumbling when he returns to physical form, though the stumble doesn't stop him from running as far from the bank as he can. He must look suspicious, a man with a mask wearing all black is hardly a trustworthy sight, but if anyone thinks something, they don't act on it. He runs past police cars on his way, but he ignores the sirens and bright lights, opting to focus more on putting one foot in front of the other despite the fact that his body wanted to collapse right under him.

Shadow walking once is hard enough, but four times in one day was taking everything out of him. He curses himself for getting rusty and losing so much stamina, but there's nothing he can do now. He failed, again. Of course he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter (T_T). Don't worry tho cuz Gav and Jack are meeting soon!


	4. Notification

**Prophet, Day 2**

**___**

Jack woke up to simulated birdsong like he always does. He grunts and slams his fist onto the clock and sits up, holding his pounding head. He had stayed up well into the night doing research on Specter. Not that he really needed to cram it all in that night, Specter hasn't been active in months, and all researching the debacle of a man did was make him feel even more offended that the Sol thought he couldn't handle the man.

He doesn't even get out of bed before he reaches over the side to grab his phone next to the clock. The brightness of the screen causes him to squint, but he can still see the frantic texts that Laura had sent him.

Laura: where are you? did u not hear the speaker???

Laura: hes robbing a bank

Laura: specter is

Laura: bro forreal.

Laura: JACK WAKE THE FUCK UP THIS IS YOUR CHANCE

Laura: you fucking idiot

"Shit," he groans, standing up and running a hand through his hair. He pulls at the strands, a small punishment for being such a moron. It was his one chance to catch Specter, and he slept through it. Even worse, if his research did him any good, he won't be seeing any activity from the man for another month at the least. "Damn it!" He shouts as he squeezes his wrist to stop himself from punching the wall.

He drags himself out of bed and throws the on clothes he wore yesterday, not bothering to wash up before leaving his room and treading to the cafeteria.

As per usual, Laura is already there, cereal bowl in front of her, and staring expectantly at Jack. He doesn't grab any food, and walks over to her, plopping himself down next to her.

"Nice job, sleeping beauty," Laura sneers, and Jack passes a glare at her before returning to staring blankly at the table. "So what was it? You're not usually a heavy sleeper."

"Stayed up researching Specter," he mutters, "I passed out."

"Ah," is all she replies with, but Jack didn't want the conversation to end yet. He needs to talk to someone, and it can't be about himself.

"So you gave up on telling Sofie, right?"

Laura raises her brow and rolls her eyes, not responding and electing to eat her cereal instead.

"You know you can't tell her."

"Jack, how about this: you can give me relationship advice once you get yourself a boyfriend," she sighs, giving up on ignoring him.

"What- I," Jack stammers, "I could get a boyfriend easily."

"Oh really?" Laura laughs, wiping a nonexistent tear from the corner of her heavily mascaraed eye.

"Yeah!" He blushes. "Its simple. I just don't want a relationship. I wanna focus on work."

"Uh-huh, sure."

"This- this isn't about me anyways!"

"Isn't it though? Jack, you're beating yourself up over a little mistake and trying to move the attention to me and Sofie. You'll get a chance to catch Specter again, trust me."

Jack ponders a moment. Of course Laura's right, she always is. He exhales loudly and rubs at his heavy eyes. "But what if I don't? What if he never shows up again? Or I get kicked off the assignment because I messed up?"

Laura snorts, "There's no way you're getting kicked off the assignment. They can't expect you to catch him on your first try."

"I didn't even try, that's the point. I slept through it."

"Bro I bet everyone here has slept through a notification at least once."

"Have you?"

She laughs again, "I haven't even been on a mission yet. My power's useless. You know that."

He grimaces. "But they're not useless, Laura. Honestly, I have no idea why they didn't give you Specter. Your powers would be way more useful against him than mine."

SHe shakes her head and turns her attention to her phone, obviously done with the conversation. "Luna works in mysterious ways."

They sit in silence for a moment, Laura scrolling on her phone and Jack thinking back to his research from last night. Specter is a strange man, to say the least. He'd rob a bank once a month and disappear, and Jack was shocked the man hadn't gotten caught yet. The reports from his robberies seemed to show that he was slowly getting sloppier, from the time he takes to get in and out increasing to him stumbling or tripping while walking around. The only reason Jack could think that the man is getting away is his powers, which is pitiful. If you need to rely on your powers to succeed, then you don't deserve them. Powers are meant to make things easier, not possible, and this man was trying to do just the latter.

Speaking of reports, "Do you think the bank got a recording?"

Laura looks up at him. "Yeah, no shit."

"Right," he says as he stands up and begins to walk towards the resource room. "See ya," he throws over his shoulder.

"See ya, dipshit."

He makes his way to the resource room and opens the door. The room is basically a glorified library, books and files on every wall, and in the center, two tables with six computers. He sits down at one of the computers and enters his account info. As soon as he logs in, he gets a notification in the corner of the screen. Clicking in it, it takes him to a file labeled with today's date and "04:49". He squints at the thumbnail of the video and can make out the familiar appearance of a security video.

When he plays the video, the first thing he sees is Specter rising from the darkness of the room and looking around. Specter rotates his shoulders and begins to walk slowly towards the vault, and conversely the camera as well. Jack pauses the video and enhances the image, zooming in on Specter's face. His brow raises when he sees the man's expression. He pulls his phone out and opens the photos, bringing up the image from a year ago and comparing it to the image from last night.

He's shocked, to say the least. The mans previously piercing eyes seemed hollow; he can tell now that they're a light shade of blue, but the color does nothing to hide the red in the corners nor the dark brown bags surrounding them. His slicked back hair is now knotted and dangling in his face in thick dreads, but the worst faring was his body. Specter had easily lost a quarter of his body weight and Jack quickly noticed how his clothing is draped loosely on him. The man's expression has also lost its passion, the blazing anger replaced with a deep weariness. Jack swallows thickly and resumes the video, placing his phone back into his pocket.

Almost as soon as the video picks up, Specter shadow travels, leaving Jack to wait until he returns. Except he doesn't return. Jack fast forwards the video, and not long after, the police arrive and begin to pick the bank apart. Jacks brow furrows as he rewatched the video, this time not fast forwarding it. Still, Specter doesn't reappear. Jack sighs, propping his chin in his hands as he rests his elbows on the table.

Specter got away, but this will be the first and last time; Jack swears it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So these chapters up until around 7 were written a while ago and they're really not that well written. They're pretty much all prelude so there's no narration lost.


	5. Wallet

**_Specter, Day 2_ **

**_____ **

Gavin didn't come home that night. He couldn't lead the police back to his apartment; he refuses to give in that easily. It's not like he actually had any spoils from the bank, he escaped empty-handed, so they have no way to pin it on him, but he still worries. His apartment is the last possession he has that the justice system hasn't ransacked, and, no matter how shitty it is, he'd like to keep it that way.

The sun is finally rising and he stirs from his sleep. He squeezes his eyes shut and considers just keeping them closed, but, like an idiot, he rises to the daylight. 

He had chosen to take refuge behind a dumpster, and, honestly, it was hardly much different compared to his apartment. At least the scent was quite similar. Gavin discerns that isn't a good thing, that it should be a sign to clean out the room, but he can hardly bring himself to care. The alley is narrow, newspapers sticking to the ground, covered by a mysterious liquid that Gavin doesn't want to know the name of. Despite the bearable temperature during the day, the night was cold, and he's thankful to the sun's rays for the mild heat that they produce. The dumpster between him and the sidewalk is a deep green, paint chipping to reveal a rusting silver beneath it. He's leaned up against the container, squeezing his torso into the corner where it meets the wall. It's somewhat comforting, the feeling of something solid on his back. He's still feeling sore from the night's endeavors and barely can bring himself to stand up, but he does.

His knees crack under his weight and his head spins at the rise in altitude, but he powers through it and peers out of the alley. He's still wearing the outfit from last night, the balaclava removed and being held in his fist. He can't wear it; if he gets noticed, it's all over. 

If he gets caught, he loses everything. His apartment, obviously, but also his freedom. The last possession that he truly cares for, and it's not even material. He supposes some people would tell him its good that he sees the value of a nonmaterial object over the latter, but that's not how he sees it. He sees it as him having so little, caring for so little, he has to begin to feel a connection with nontangible items. He sees it as pathetic.

He swallows wearily and walks into the early morning crowd, following the flow of people to his apartment. Some people lock eyes with him, giving his disgusted looks, though Gavin doesn't understand what they're expecting.  _You live in a city, dumbass. You think bums don't exist?_

He reaches the apartment complex; the old, dark bricks in stark contrast with the metal and glass of the revolving door. The receptionist desk is empty, not an unusual sight for the building. Just by looking at the place, you can tell it's sketchy, but when you live there, when you know the owner; well, Gavin isn't the only villain living there. He won't complain though  _—_  if the owner actually had morals, he probably wouldn't have been able to get a room in the first place.

Walking down the hall, he approaches the door to his apartment and stops dead in his tracks. A 'no' escapes his mouth as he stares wide-eyed at the eviction notice at his door.

"No no no, this can't-" he chokes out before having to put his arm out against the wall to hold himself up. The world is spinning, no, wait, tilting. Gavin's breath is short; although his lungs are expanding, he doesn't feel anything fill them. "Fuck."

He snatches the notice off the door, opens it, and tumbles into the room, finally allowing his legs to give in. Throwing his balaclava at the wall, he crumbles to his knees and leans over himself, cupping his hands and dropping his head into them. A whimper escapes him, and he pulls one of his hands down to grab at his throat, willing himself to be silent.

Tearless gasps for air ravage his body and the first noise since the discovery escapes him: a sob. He rides himself through the waves of adrenaline that rack him time after time, rocking back and forth as he takes in broad gulps of air.

He stumbles to his feet and collapses onto his mattress, face down in his pillow. "I can't-" he heaves into his pillow. If he loses his apartment, he loses everything. Everything. "Shit. Fuck. I need-" he growls at himself for speaking out loud; no one's there to listen to his blubbering.

He sits up and rubs his eyes hard enough for his vision to be full of black spots for a moment after opening them. The balaclava is still sitting on the floor, and he glares at it with squinted eyes. He strides past it and through the door again.

It's still morning and the city is finally heating up, and he begins to regret keeping the sweatshirt and cargo pants on, but he doesn't bother returning to change  _—_  he needs money. Now.

He's a few blocks away from his apartment.  _His_  apartment. He sets his eyes on a target immediately: a middle-aged man, gray streaks in his greased-back hair and wearing a tailored suit. The man's shoes are shiny and obnoxious and Gavin gets angry just looking at them. 

The man is in a relatively sketchy part of the city, Gavin justifies, what can he think would happen? He rushes the man and pushes him against a wall face first  _—_  there isn't anybody around to witness it, at least that he fears would alert authorities before he could get away. Most of them won't call the cops at all, they've probably done worse than he's doing now. The man whimpers and Gavin sneers as he presses the man's arms further up his back. He can hear the fabric around the shoulder of the man's suit rip from the stretching, and it makes him feel better  _—_  slightly. Gavin takes both of the man's arms into one hand and pats him down with the other. When he feels the man's wallet in his back pocket, he's quick to snatch it and toss the man to the ground.

The into a fetal position, sniveling on the floor, as Gavin opens the wallet and pulls out the cash. Tossing the wallet onto the ball of a man, he scoffs, "Pathetic."

He turns and runs back near his apartment, ready to pay off the rent and get his life back to normal. As soon as he's at a safe distance, he counts the money. 

$80. 

"Fuck."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gav is a total little spoon and also sorry for the lack of updates I've been focusing on my other work lately but I'll try to stay on track with this one.


	6. Promise

**Prophet, Day 3**

**___**

When Jack's phone chimes before the birds begin to sing, he shoots up like an arrow. He grabs the phone and quickly turns it on, ignoring the way his eyes sting at the sudden bright light. An email, no need to rush, but he rushes anyway. Opening the message and reading that it's from the Archetype Organization, he's glad he did. The topic was simple; Specter and today's date written on it. No, yesterday's date. Jacks stomach clenches for fear that he missed Specter again, and he reads the date that the email was sent  _—_  it was sent today. A mistake, perhaps? Unlikely, but its the only answer his groggy mind can think of.

He doesn't think that his question would be answered in the actual email until he started reading it. He slaps his hand onto his forehead and scolds himself for being such an idiot. He begins to settle into his bed and dive into the text when the birds begin to chirp loudly, causing him to jump slightly.

He turns off the alarm and places his phone down then brushes his teeth and gets dressed. It's the usual combination: a bright red t-shirt and jeans. Slipping on a pair of sneakers, he snatches his phone and jogs to the cafeteria, opting out of breakfast again and sitting with Laura.

"Someone's in a good mood," she greets as he reopens the email.

"I'm finally on top of things," he smiles, "you were right. Specter acted again."

"I'm always right. I'll let you read."

Jack grunts in approval and glues his eyes to the screen. "What the hell?" He muddles almost instantly after he begins and Laura turns her head to him.

"What?"

"There has to be something wrong with this guy or something," he says to her.

"Need more details, Jack. What's happening?"

"He... it wasn't a bank. He didn't rob a bank."

"Isn't that, like, a good thing?"

Jack remembers back to when she brought up Sofie a few days ago, his lips twitching at the reversal of their roles. "I mean it would be if he didn't rob anything. He jacked some random guy in broad daylight."

"That is... kinda weird."

"I mean, yeah. The guy's a mess but he's not an idiot. During the day! He can't even use his powers!"

Laura ponders for a moment. "No video?"

Jack sighs and rereads the email before replying, "No. The guy reported it a while after it happened," Jack sighs, rubbing his face, "' _I was scared_ ' _._ " He mocks the man's statement.

"I mean some buff angry dude takes your wallet, you're gonna be kinda scared."

Jack laughs before he realizes she's not joking. "Oh my god, you're serious." He pulls up the recent image of Specter on his phone and passes it to her.

She gasps and places a hand on her mouth. "Oh, that poor thing," she speaks softly.

"'Poor thing?' He's a criminal, Laura. A villain."

"Look at him!" She hisses, zooming in on Specter's face.

"Yes, I have. For hours. I don't wanna again."

"Jack you're being heartless. He's skin and bones!"

"That's his problem. All I have to do is catch him, not care for him."

"I _—_ " she takes a deep breath, "Fine. Whatever you say. If you wanna know why I think he's acting like this, I think its 'cause he's burning out." 

Jack turns off his phone. "'Burning out'? What do you mean?"

"I mean its a common thing for heroes, why not villains as well?"

"You're saying he's... bored?"

Laura shakes her head. "No, no. I mean... yeah. He's bored. That, or..."

"Don't hold out on me now."

"I mean, you probably know this, with your research and everything, but, um," she wrings her hands over the table as she chooses her words, "you know how villains get found dead sometimes, just kinda, like, laying in their apartments or whatever, and _—_ "

"You're saying he's depressed." It isn't a question. Jack knows what she's alluding to, and he contends. "He is  _not_."

"How do  _you_  know?"

"He may be a bastard, but _—_ "

"But what, Jack? But what? This man obviously has problems and needs help. What, can he not have emotions just because he's a ' _bad guy_ '?" She makes air quotes around the last words, and her voice becomes more and more bitter as she speaks.

Jack raises his hands in resignation, "Woah, woah. I didn't mean anything by it, Laura. I'm sorry, I was just confused, that's all."

"You can apologize by prioritizing helping him over getting rid of him."

Jack mulls over the statement before giving in. "I will. I promise, whatever I can do, within reason, I'll do."

She scrutinizes him for a time. "I'll hold you to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imma be honest with y'all: writing Jack is literally the most difficult fuccing thing I swear. Also holy shit short chapter time. Oof


	7. Alcohol

**Specter, Day 4**

**___**

"Need..." 

Need what? Gavin can't remember. The floor is wobbling again, but he feels good. He's agitated as well, but still feels good at the same time. Is that possible?

He was in a bar, last he recalls, but he's not anymore. He's in an alley again, at least he thinks it's again. He can't remember specifically the last time he was in an alley, but he knows he's been in one. A memory tugs at the back of his head and he pushes it back. His mind feels like it has a woolen blanket weighing on it, and he likes it. It makes him feel better, like when a child pulls the covers over their head to keep the demons away.

What are his demons? Does he want to know?

"I need..."

Is that his voice? 

He's in an alley. 

He knows that. 

A dark alley. 

He was drinking. Why was he drinking?

"What do I need?"

He doesn't know. Why did he leave the bar? He tries to move off the side of the narrow passageway and stumbles, catching himself on the opposite wall. His legs are heavy, he can barely pick them up, but, with great effort, he does.

He leaves the alley, and the street is bright with neon that makes the back of his eyes hurt. He squeezes them shut but the light breaks through the lids, and so he presses his hand on them, using the other to help himself navigate the crowds.

He feels a hand press against his back and push, causing him to stumble into a woman in front of him. "Excuse you," she nags, and Gavin shakes his head. Why is she angry? He stares at her blankly and she turns away in disgust, muttering "Damn drunks," under her breath.

Gavin continues to stand in place as people shoulder past him until another hand pushes against his back. Or maybe its the same hand. He continues with the momentum and walks forward. What was he thinking before? He...

The hand comes again.

He needed something.

The hand pushes him into another alleyway.

He needed what?

The hand shoves him against the wall, and he's getting annoyed. 

"Fuck off," he slurs, and the hand pushes him harder against the wall. He only now notices that he's at the end of the alley, and there's no one else there but him and the hand. He begins to struggle against the hand and the more he fights it the stronger it gets. "Fuckin' snake, get the fuck offa me."

The hand jostles his clothing. "What the fuck, man?" Gavin's voice is three pitches too high and he's getting angry. The hand isn't satisfied. It spins Gavin around and he groans at the pounding in his head. "Stop," he groans.

The hand becomes the face and the face is inches away from his and its breath smells rancid. Or maybe that's him? "Give me yer money," the face snarls and Gavin gawks at him. "Mo-ney." The face pronounces each syllable independently, which makes Gavin even more confused. 

"Money," he repeats, and the words feel weird in his mouth. "I need—"

"No, shut the fuck up. You don't need shit but to give me yer money."

Gavin looks past the face and thinks. That's what he needed. Money.

"Of course," he gasps in amazement at his own discovery.

"Huh? What the hell? You some sorta nut?"

"Oh," Gavin speaks as he looks back at the face. The face forgot to use the hands, and Gavin's hands are very much free, so he uses them. 

Lifting a fist he connects with the face's cheek. The face stumbles backward and Gavin runs.

Where does he run? To money.

His legs are heavy. He struggles to pick them up, and he swears that he remembers there being an easier way, but he cares more about getting away from the face. 

Where is money? The bank, of course. What bank? That bank. The one he remembers from before, a few nights ago. Or maybe yesterday. It doesn't matter, he needs money.

He makes it to the bank, somehow. It's empty, and the doors are locked and his head is really starting to hurt. He mutters a soft, "Oh," and stares at the glass door. 

No, he can't give up. Its right there.  _Right_   _there_. How to get in? Break in, yes, but how?

"Break," he whispers.

He pulls his fist back and does just that. The glass shatters and his knuckles bleed, but it doesn't hurt. It's numb, slightly, maybe a little sting, but it doesn't hurt. 

He steps into the bank and begins to search for the money. Where would they keep it? He can see a large vault at the far end of the hallway and he stumbles towards it. It feels like the world is tilting beneath him, and he loses his balance again and again, but he keeps moving.

When he reaches the vault, he can't open it nor can he break it, and his legs are getting too heavy. He turns around and begins to slide down the vault door, but jumps to attention when he sees a man standing in front of him.

"Shit!" Gavin barks and tries to sprint past him, but only succeeds in crashing into the arm that he puts out to stop him.

Blue meets brown as Gavin raises a fist to punch the man, but before he can process it, the man catches his hand and twists it around his back, spinning him around.

"Ugh, not again," Gavin groans as he struggles in the man's grip. "Hey, kid, lemme go, yeah?"

"I'm not a kid." His voice is deeper than Gavin expected, and a shiver runs where the man's breath touches the back of Gavin's neck. "Specter, you're under arrest."

 _Specter_. Gavin suddenly feels very sober. "Come on kid, you got the wrong guy," Gavin tries, but the man presses his arm up higher and Gavin winces. So this is how the rich guy felt. "Alright, alright. How much to bribe you? I don't got any money right now, but if you let me go, I can — I can get some. How much? Five hundred? Thousand?"

"Heroes don't take bribes."

Gavin snorts. "Don't heroes wear onesies or somethin'?" Gavin angles his head so he can get another look at the man. He was wearing relatively normal clothes. Athletic sneakers, sweatpants, and a form-fitting hoodie. 

He pushes Gavin harder against the wall, causing him to snap his head forward. "Damn, at least tell me your name first," Gavin jokes, but the man clearly has no respect for Gavin's excellent humor. Gavin sighs and tries to focus on shadow walking.

 _I only need to get away from him, I can run the rest of the way._ He hears the clanking of handcuffs being drawn from the man's pocket. "A kinky one, I see," he tries to gain time as he concentrates on the shadows.

It works. 

Gavin feels himself feather in with the darkness surrounding him and the man and rips himself from them as soon as he can. Gavin's slightly further than arms reach away from the man. He takes one leg out to place it in front, to begin running, but his knee doesn't work and he falls, face first, onto the ground.

And everything goes black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My G Fuel finally came in so expect a shit ton of updates this week. Lead poisoning, here I come!


	8. Building

**_Prophet, Day 5_ **

**___**

Jack stands next to Laura in the research room, leaning against a bookshelf. 

He should be happy. 

He isn't. 

He finally caught Specter, the thing he's wanted to do for days; but despite the fact that he's completed his first mission in record time, it doesn't feel gratifying.

Laura sighs and shuts the book she was reading  _—_ an autobiography of one of the founding members of the Archetype Organization  _—_ and looks at him, crossing her arms. "You haven't talked since yesterday. I could get it then, but it's a new day. Something's wrong."

Jack shakes his head. "No, nothing's wrong."

"Yes, there is. Jack,  _please._ What's up? I thought you would be happy."

Laura's voice is laced with concern as she questions him, and he glances at her. She's right. He thought he would be happy as well, and, honestly, he was a little happy when he dumped Specter's body off in the Organization's cells  _—_ but it was fleeting. Now all he feels is a slight quease in his gut and a disinclination to smile. "No, I'm fine," he lies.

She puffs and adjusts her stance, arms now at her side and fingers tapping lightly at her thigh. "No, you're not."

"I don't want to talk about it." He, himself, is unsure if it's the truth, but it's easier to ignore it than face it head-on. He pauses for a moment  _—_ even he knows the attitude is unlike him, and that just gives Laura all the more reason to question him.

She snorts, "If you didn't want to talk about it, you'd be avoiding me. You knew I'd ask."

Jack starts. He hadn't even noticed that he's been silently trailing behind Laura all day, not speaking a word. He hums and adjusts himself, his back becoming uncomfortable leaning up against the bookshelf. "I _—_ " he clicks his tongue " _—_ ugh, you're right. Again," he laughs, though it's more of a strong breath of air than anything, really. "I don't feel happy."

"Not surprising," Laura states, and Jack's brow furrows. What does she mean 'Not surprising'? Its taken Jack all day to come to terms with the fact that he's not out celebrating catching Specter right now, and she thinks it's not surprising? What the hell?

"What?" Is all he can manage.

"I read the report." She sighs, shifting her position again, and Jack is getting fidgety just watching her. She makes eye contact and continues, "He didn't fight you or anything, and I know you were looking for one when you headed out."

Is it wrong that he was? "Other heroes end up getting a battle with their villain. All I did was scrape a drunk guy off the floor." He adds slightly scathingly.

Laura grunts. "I told you he's messed up, Jack."

He's starting to get impatient, now. Did he seriously think talking about it would help? "I know that," growling, he stares a hole in Laura's eyes, "and I thought bringing him to justice would fix it, but it didn't—" he rubs a hand over his face, and says through clenched teeth, "—and I don't know what I did wrong." His voice cracks slightly at that, and he curses himself for getting emotional.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Laura affirms, pressing a hand to his shoulder, "you promised me you would help him as best you could, and you did." Her voice is too uplifting for Jack's mood, and it does the opposite effect than she is probably hoping. "You took him off the streets, that's all you needed to do." She looks away from Jack, opting to stare at the bookshelf next to them instead. Her hand drops and she grabs at her elbow with her other hand. "As much as I hate to say it, it's in the Org's hands now. All we can do is hope that they see what we see and that they do something."

Jack supposes it's true  _—_ the Organization is good at dealing with criminals, he knows that. He's always known that, even before this conversation, so whatever is pissing on his mood has to be something else. "But why do I feel like that isn't enough?" He pries, looking at Laura like she's his last hope, and — honestly — she kind of is.

"Jack." The hand returns to his shoulder, and he slightly wants to shove it off, but he doesn't. An argument with Laura is the last thing he wants. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing else you can do. I get that you want to help him, I wish I could too, but we can't. It's over. Its best to just... just give up." Is she kidding? Does she seriously think Jack's talking about wanting to help Specter? He supposes it's like her to assume that, but the thought that they've been talking about different things the entire time makes a muscle tug at his lips, still. He doesn't give a shit about helping Specter, truly. The man put himself into this situation, it's only fair that he suffers from it. No, what's bothering him isn't that. Can't be that. It's something else, he's sure, but what, he doesn't know.

"Last I checked you were the one saying never give up." Jack jabs. Better to let her believe they're talking about the same thing than have to suffer through another speech about mental health. Sure, the man's not stable, but that's hardly his problem  _—_ or Laura's.

She sighs and the pressure on his shoulder is gone. Her eyes return to the bookshelf. "I guess that's an instance where I was wrong."

She's really feeling bad for Specter, Jack thinks, though he doesn't understand why she would feel such a responsibility for a stranger  _—_ a villain. He breathes in and out with a sigh, and now it's his turn to put his hand on her shoulder. "Laura, I—"

A voice cuts through his words; "Specter has escaped containment; Prophet, please report to the holding cells." The loudspeakers call over the ceiling.

Jack jumps at the sudden intrusion, and barely catches a glance at Laura's slight smile before she's flipping him around and pushing him out the door whilst shouting 'Go go go!' at his back. He stumbles out the door and continues to sprint the way to the containment cells. Millions of thoughts run through his head, though the main one that drills repeatedly through him is a simple 'How?' 

How did Specter escape such a secure facility when clearly drunk  _—_ or at the very least hungover. The thought mulls in his head the entire of the two minutes it takes him to run to the holding cells.

The door looks normal, except for the small plaque with exactly what you'd expect written on it. He tosses open the door with little pleasantries and he's greeted with a room similar to the receptionist area of a hotel. A brunette is already standing behind the desk in the far end of the room, bent over a computer and swearing to herself. Her hair is tied up in a knotted bun, and multiple locks are falling out of it in her frenzy. She shoots ramrod straight when she hears the door close behind him, and Jack locks eyes with her through her thick glasses. "Prophet?" She breaths, adjusting the large frames on her face. Her voice is trembling slightly, which makes Jack suspect that she was the one who was supposed to be keeping Specter under a close eye. Obviously, she failed.

"Yes!" He hurries, "What's going on?"

"No time." The girl raises her hands and points her palms at him, "Bring him back." She makes a gesture with her arms, moving her hands in a strange butcher of a circle, and the floor opens up below him. He doesn't have time to looks down, and he honestly doesn't want to, as he squeezes his eyes shut as he feels air rush under him for a moment, then he lands on solid ground with a thump.

Immediately, he can tell he's not at the Organization anymore; the airs too cold, there's a wind blowing through his hair, and he can hear the sound of car horns much clearer than before. Opening his eyes slowly, he's quick to realize he's on the top of a building. The light from the street can barely reach him at this altitude, but it's enough for him to see where he's walking. It's also enough for him to see the outline of a man standing on the ledge.

Before he can even consider who it is in front of him, he's rushing to the figure and shouts, "Stop!"

The figure turns to face him — he can't tell what direction the man's facing, it's too dark, so he assumes it's to face him — and shifts on his feet.

Specter, Jack thinks. It has to be Specter, so he'll address him as such. "Specter, stop this!"

Specter visibly jumps, and Jack can hear his snarl from the few yards of distance that's between them. He growls "Don't call me that," but stays still, almost challenging Jack to say something to him.

Why the hell does Jack have to deal with this guy? He has no certifications for people in this state, and his distaste for Specter will probably only encourage the man to do something regrettable. "What the hell do you want me to call you, then?" He snaps and reprimands himself for being so sharp to someone unstable — even if it is Specter.

"By my name, asshole!" Specter shouts back, and Jack takes back the reprimand. This man is a jackass and deserves whatever happens tonight.

"I don't know your fucking name,  _asshole_!" Jack shoots back, and Specter stutters but regains his composure quickly  _—_ or as quickly as a man about to jump off a building can, at least.

"Gavin," he calls back but says nothing more. He's practically begging Jack to give him a reason not to jump now, and Jack knows he's not going to be a big help. But he'll try, for no one but Laura's sake. 

"Think this through. Do you really want to do this?"

Specter laughs, though it sounds more like a choked sob than anything else. "I'm not goin' to jail."

Is he serious? "All of this, just because you don't want to go to prison?"

Specter flinches on his perch, but then regains his posture and gnarls, "Yes, because I don't want to go to prison! Hell's preferable to that fucking place!"

Specter's declining, and his breath is becoming quicker as Jack tries to approach, his arms held out like he's approaching a rabid dog. What would Laura do? "Alright, alright. We can talk this out, okay?"

"No! Not ' _okay_ '!" Specter shouts at him, running a hand through his knotted hair. "I can't—" his voice cracks and he clears his throat "I can't go there — lose everything. I _—_ I'd rather..." he doesn't have to complete the sentence for Jack to understand. Specter would rather die than go to prison, Jack knows, but he doesn't understand his logic. What's so horrible about prison? He expresses this, and Specter becomes even more erratic. "What _—_ what's so bad? Oh, I don't know, maybe the torture they put people with powers through in there? Maybe the tests they do to see if they can take your powers away? Or the room they'll shove me in that never gets dark?" Jack says nothing as Specter tries to regain himself, breath quick. "Oh, I know what you're thinkin'. 'They would never do that. What's so bad about a bright room, anyways?' Fuck off, yeah? How 'bout you leave me be, yeah?" He flings his arms around as he shouts, eyes wide and face a mix between a grimace and a grin. Jack still says nothing, trying to think of what Laura would do in this situation. He supposes that she'd walk over and try to talk him down, but he's obviously not in a state of mind to listen to reason, so he has no idea what to say. "Say something! Stop starin' and say something! Jesus, what're you thinkin'?" Specter is tearing at his hair, now — most likely pulling strands out as he does so — and Jack has to do something.

So he uses his powers. He only glances a few seconds into the future, and it's not a solid prediction — there's always the possibility of something else happening — but seeing Specter take a step off the building and fall to the concrete below is enough to spring Jack into action. He runs at Specter — faster than the man can react to — and grabs him around the waist. Jack's a couple of inches taller than him and a good thirty pounds more, so it's easy to lift Specter off his feet and slam him to the floor. He doesn't let go, though, and decides to keep a death grip around Specter as they lay on their sides on the ground. "Let. me. go!" Specter hollers as he twists and shoves at Jack, but Jack is frozen.

Did he seriously do that? He panicked — he shouldn't have panicked. He's a hero, not some kid who's never seen death. But what else could he do? Specter was going to jump — he was going to  _die_. Jack couldn't let that happen; not to Specter nor Laura. If he let Specter jump, Laura would never let him live it down. Ever. "I can't," he growls in Specter's ear, but it only makes him struggle more. He can feel Specter's heartbeat quicken through where their chests touch, and his fast breathing is making Jack anxious as well.

"Why the hell not? Lemme go! Why do you care?" Specter shouts, and Jack's arms are beginning to ache from holding him back. Specter may be lanky, but he's still quite forceful.

"Goddamnit, I don't!" Jack snarls at him, and he begins to struggle less — not to say he stops, exactly, but there's less passion behind the wiggling — most likely out of surprise. Jack, though, is not surprised at all. He doesn't care, not one bit. This is for Laura. If he had it his way he'd walk down the stairs and leave Specter standing at the roof to do whatever he wishes.

Their faces are close and Jack can see Specter's face contort from anger to confusion. "What the fuck? Why're you doin' this, then?"

What's Jack supposed to say? 'I promised my friend I would help you, and I really don't want to make her mad'? Yes, that's exactly what he says.

Specter laughs, his adrenaline wearing off, and now running seemingly completely off his hysteria. "Gold!" He shouts, "Pure gold! You're 'helping' me 'cause of you're damn friendship." Jack can hear his trembling slow and replace with shuddering of his shoulders as he laughs until tears begin to fall from his eyes.

Jack takes a deep breath. There's no way Specter is sober, so best to treat him like a child — maybe he'll get a better reaction. "Alright. How about you come with me?"

His arms are still wrapped around Specter's waist, but as Specter began to struggle less, he loosens his grip. Specter hums and shifts in Jack's arms. He seems to be sobering up, and there's a dust of red rising on his cheeks. "Fuck, just lemme go and we can talk." He murmurs.

Jack snorts at that, and retorts with, "You'll run. I'm not stupid."

Specters laughter is all but gone now. "You kinda are, though? I could've gotten away this entire time, kid."

It's starting to get uncomfortable, wrapping his arms around Specter when he's not hysterical — but he's not about to risk losing Specter, so he decides to be frivolous. "Don't call me a kid."

"Do you even know what my power is, kid?" 

Jack pauses, then mentally slaps himself for being an idiot. Specter isn't lying — he could easily escape Jacks constraints, which makes their position nothing more than a hug, so he quickly rips his arms away and sits up. He can feel his own cheeks pink; it's been a while since he's been in such close proximity with another man, and he's feeling ever-so-slightly self-conscious. He knows Specter couldn't give a shit, but still...

He stands up and dusts off his pants before offering Specter his hand. The raven slaps his hand away and stands up on his own, wobbling slightly before turning on his heel and running towards the ledge yet again. Jack rushes toward him and jumps onto him, slamming him to the ground — his head cracks against the cement and he goes limp. Jack immediately bolts off of Specter and flips him around, pressing his hand to his forehead, feeling the warm dampness of blood. "Shit!" He hisses and he moves the hand from Specter's forehead to under his nose. He can feel the light caress of air on his finger, and breaths a sigh of relief. He's alive — thank god — but he's certainly out cold.

He hoists Specter over his shoulder and pads over to the door to the stairs. Specter's light — too light — and Jack thinks back to Laura's words. There is something wrong with Specter; no man is naturally this weight. He gets to the bottom of the stairs and looks around. It's a waiting room, that he's in, and the building is empty; the lights are still on so he gets comfortable and lays Specter down on the inky sofa in the corner of the room. Sitting on the bottom of the cough at Specter's feet, he considers ordering a cab but is quickly turned off at the idea when he looks back down at Specter's bloody scalp.

Jack groans and puts his own head in his hands and props his elbows on his knees. Taxi is a no; what else? Uber? He pats his pockets and tsks. No wallet, no money, no Uber. His phone is there, though, and he pulls it out to look at the notifications he's gotten while out. There's nothing there but a lone text from Laura asking how it had gone from nearly fifteen minutes ago. He opens his phone and hesitated before he sends his response. Laura has a car, right? He's never seen her drive before. Then again, he's never seen her leave the Organization campus — at least not to go somewhere farther than walking distance. Now that he thinks about it, he has no idea where he is. He taps off of his texting app and opens a map, seeing that he's a good amount of blocks away from the campus. He reopens the app and messages Laura back.

Jack: Do you have a car?

Laura: youre in luck dipshit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit over 3k words... hope this makes up the like 3 words in the last few chapters. Also, this is the cutoff of when the chapters (imo) start to get good.


	9. Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the hiatus. I'll get back on track at the end of the month.

**_Specter, Day 5_ **

**_____ **

When Gavin wakes, he registers that, a) he's back on the cardboard-feeling cot, b) there's a bandage wrapped haphazardly around his forehead, and c) a white-haired woman is watching him whilst sitting next to the hero-kid who he's been seeing too often lately. He doesn't bother sitting up, opting to turn his head to face them on the other side of the cell. He says nothing, instead acknowledges them with a growl.

"Good morning, Specter," the white-haired woman says, and when she stands up, Gavin notices how her eyes flicker from silver to gold for a moment. He doesn't reply and looks to the kid, who's still sitting on the bench outside his cell. The cell is well-lit this time, and escape is unlikely, but when the woman opens the door and walks in, he ponders pushing past her and making a run for it. "I wouldn't do that," she advises and comes to a stop only a few steps in front of Gavin's cot. She's just close enough for laying down to be uncomfortable, so he tosses his legs over the side of the bed but doesn't rise to his full height. Slightly out of spite, but also because he can tell that the woman is taller than him. Outstretching an arm, she smiles pleasantly, "Call me Luna."

"Mind reader?" Gavin assumes, not bothering to take her hand or commit her name to memory. He'll be leaving this place soon, one way or another, so there's no need to acquaint himself.

"Indeed," she replies, brow raised, before her eyes flash gold again. She lowers her hand back to her side. "I've been told by Prophet that you're not looking forward to prison," she begins, gesturing to the kid, and Gavin snorts. She glares at him for a moment and continues, "There's something of a conversion program I've been thinking of implementing," and Gavin can see the kid  _—_ Prophet, is his name  _—_ stand from the bench, though he doesn't say anything, his mouth is slightly open and Gavin can practically see the words filling it. "To put it simply, you'd be working beside an Organization employee, and take the title of hero. Of course, you'd be under strict observation and you won't have as many luxuries as the normal employees, but _—"_

"Yeah, yadda yadda yadda. Why the hell are you offering me this?" Gavin interrupts, standing up and confirming his fears of the woman  _—_ Luna — being taller than him.

Luna crosses her arms and gives him a disapproving look. "I've seen your thoughts, Gavin. I know you don't  _want_  to be a villain, nor do you want to go to prison. I'm giving you an alternative."

Prophet finally speaks up, walking from the bench to the open cell door while Luna turns around to face him fully. "Um, it's not that I don't believe you, Luna, but, won't he be kinda... useless?" Gavin knows Prophet's probably right, but it still feels like a punch to the gut to be called useless by a stranger. He's not  _that_ useless, though. His powers are great for stealth missions, and he... he can do... stuff...

He clicks his tongue. What is he thinking, Prophet is completely correct in calling him useless. Luna, on the other hand, disagrees. "He will have his uses," she assures, "and even if he doesn't, he's the first to be inducted, so I'd rather not have someone who can be a threat." Prophet seems to sympathize, or at the very least doesn't want to get a disagreement with Luna, and he nods to her. "So are you willing?" She asks, turning back to Gavin.

He reflects for a moment. What feels like seconds ago he was willing to kill himself rather than go to jail, but now that he's sober, he's not too sure. "What do I get?" He asks her, wanting to weigh the costs and benefits.

"Free bed and food, and a paying job," she supplies, and Gavin grunts in response. Food is hardly anything as he can go a few days before snatching a bag of chips from a gas station, and he was fine sleeping in the alley just a day or two ago, but money  **—**  now that's hard to come by these days. The benefit is money, but what's the cost? Luna had said he would have to work beside someone, didn't she?

"And who's my babysitter?"

She drops her arms back to her sides. "Prophet will be your partner. If you agree, that is."

This seems to come as a shock to Prophet as well, as he takes a few strides to stand next to her. "Can we talk about this?" He begs, making doe-eyes at her that do nothing.

"It's the most appropriate. You've been researching Specter for days now, you know more about him than anybody," answers Luna, and Prophet sags before her. Gavin feels the same, honestly. He's known Prophet for barely a day now, and he already wants to rip the kid's throat out. Having to spend any more of his life with him is detestable. "Don't forget, Specter. It's this or prison," she reminds, and all doubt is erased. At least with Luna's option, he can avoid whatever he dislikes, including Prophet. Jail would just be torture for however short of a life he has in store.

"Fine," he answers through clenched teeth, not looking at Luna but rather glaring holes in Prophet. "I'll do it."

"Thank you for understanding, Mister Napire," Luna finishes, and Gavin flinches at the sound of his last name. Luna's been digging in his mind too much for comfort, and he tries his best to steel himself from further prodding. She nods at both men and leaves the room first, saying, "There will be another employee coming soon to tell you all of your responsibilities in a moment. It was nice talking with you," over her shoulder.

Prophet also moves to exit the cell, but Gavin takes him by the hem of the shirt and brings their faces a few inches apart. "I'm not here to make friends, kid," he snarls.

Prophet sneers, "Oh, I wouldn't be too worried about that," before yanking himself out from Gavin's grasp and strutting out from the room, leaving Gavin alone, yet again. 


End file.
